“On the contrary!” She was now white to the lips.  “Whoever goes with her gives me up.  They must choose—­once for all.”

“My dear friend, listen to reason.”

And, drawing his chair close to her, he argued with her for half an hour.  At the end of that time her gust of passion had more or less passed away; she was, to some extent, ashamed of herself, and, as he believed, not far from tears.

“When I am gone she will think of what I have been saying,” he assured himself, and he rose to take his leave.  Her look of exhaustion distressed him, and, for all her unreason, he felt himself astonishingly in sympathy with her.  The age in him held out secret hands to the age in her—­as against encroaching and rebellious youth.

Perhaps it was the consciousness of this mood in him which at last partly appeased her.

“Well, I’ll try again.  I’ll try to hold my tongue,” she granted him, sullenly.  “But, understand, she, sha’n’t go to that bazaar!”

“That’s a great pity,” was his naive reply.  “Nothing would put you in a better position than to give her leave.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” she vowed.  “And now good-night, Wilfrid—­good-night.  You’re a very good fellow, and if I can take your advice, I will.”

* * * * *

Lady Henry sat alone in her brightly lighted drawing-room for some time.  She could neither read nor write nor sew, owing to her blindness, and in the reaction from her passion of the afternoon she felt herself very old and weary.

But at last the door opened and Julie Le Breton’s light step approached.

“May I read to you?” she said, gently.

Lady Henry coldly commanded the Observer and her knitting.

She had no sooner, however, begun to knit than her very acute sense of touch noticed something wrong with the wool she was using.

“This is not the wool I ordered,” she said, fingering it carefully.  “You remember, I gave you a message about it on Thursday?  What did they say about it at Winton’s?”

Julie laid down the newspaper and looked in perplexity at the ball of wool.

“I remember you gave me a message,” she faltered.

“Well, what did they say?”

“I suppose that was all they had.”

Something in the tone struck Lady Henry’s quick ears.  She raised a suspicious face.

“Did you ever go to Winton’s at all?” she said, quickly.

[Illustration:  “LADY HENRY GASPED. SHE FELL BACK INTO HER CHAIR”]

“I am so sorry.  The Duchess’s maid was going there,” said Julie, hurriedly, “and she went for me.  I thought I had given her your message most carefully.”

“Hm,” said Lady Henry, slowly.  “So you didn’t go to Winton’s.  May I ask whether you went to Shaw’s, or to Beatson’s, or the Stores, or any of the other places for which I gave you commissions?” Her voice cut like a knife.